


Maybe together

by TooRational



Series: The Hug Incident [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Saviors at the Hilltop dilemma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 19:04:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12966315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooRational/pseuds/TooRational
Summary: The first thing Daryl notices once they're inside the walls is a bullpen. With people inside. And other people on watch, guarding them.Considering Kal is still at the gates and acting normal, it doesn't take a genius to figure out who the prisoners are."What's goin' on," Daryl asks Tara through gritted teeth.





	Maybe together

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative summary: The Fight that wouldn't get out of my head until I wrote it down.
> 
> Rating for language / universe / themes.

Tara and Daryl pull up to the Hilltop's tall gates after a long drive, honking at Kal to let them in.

The gamble they pulled off at the Sanctuary went well, last they saw -- all the walkers rushing into the building, gunfire focused inward for once. They didn't stay to see the results, just hightailed it back here in one of the spare cars because Tara is a part of this team, and Daryl can continue on after checking in with Maggie.

Hopefully, Michonne and Rosita returned to Alexandria safely, too. They'll need everyone if they want to finish this tomorrow.

The first thing Daryl notices once they're inside the walls is a bullpen. With people inside. And other people on watch, guarding them.

Considering Kal is still at the gates and acting normal, it doesn't take a genius to figure out who the prisoners are.

"What's goin' on," Daryl asks Tara through gritted teeth, and she lets out a surprised noise when she sees what he's looking at.

"Oh, so that's what they did with them," she says, like seeing a bunch of Saviors inside Hilltop's walls is no big deal. "I was hoping Maggie wouldn't give in, but..."

"Maggie?"

She wasn't supposed to be anywhere near the fighting after the attack on Sanctuary, what...?

"Well, it was Maggie's decision. Jesus captured them at the Satellite outpost and decided not to kill any of 'em," Tara says in a dark tone.

_Jesus?_

Daryl doesn't quite know what to do with that. The sentence simply doesn't compute in his brain, spinning like a wheel stuck in the mud and getting nowhere. It _sounds_ like something Jesus could do, but _now_ , and with the Saviors?

As if summoned, Jesus walks up to the fence and starts giving out some kind of food to the prisoners. _Food_ , to the people who abused them and bullied them and _killed_ \--

Daryl snaps out of his stupor, outrage a living thing inside him, and gets out of the car with a loud screech of the door, drawing everyone's attention. There's a flicker of fatigue and annoyance on Jesus' face when he sees him, but it settles into his usual calm immediately, and he gives the bag to one of the guards to continue what he started.

By the time Daryl approaches, his back is straight and chin up, meeting him head on and apparently resigned to what's coming.

"What the hell, man," Daryl grits out, hands on hips and eyes narrowed to slits.

"I see you're up to speed on current events," Jesus says in a pale imitation of his usual sarcastic tone. His hair is limp and listless for the first time since Daryl's met him, and he pulls at the bottom of his glove in what Daryl came to realize recently was a nervous gesture.

 _He looks tired_ , comes a thought from somewhere in the back of Daryl's mind, but it's easily pushed aside, swallowed by other concerns.

"Don't--" Daryl huffs out a breath and paces out his rage so he wouldn't do something stupid like take a swing at Jesus, or start shooting Saviors through the fence. " _Don't_. What's goin' on?"

"I brought the prisoners to the Hilltop," Jesus says, and it blows Daryl's mind, how matter of fact he is about this. Blows the fire within him even hotter and higher, too, until it tingles all the way down to his fingertips.

" _Why._ " The word is a demand more than a question, and everything that Daryl can force out of his sandpaper throat.

They're the focus of every single person in the yard right now, even though the guards are pretending not to listen and the Saviors are keeping their heads down, playing at repenting for their crimes. Daryl doesn't care one bit.

"Look, we can talk about this but not here and now," Jesus says, and his calmness just serves to infuriate Daryl even further.

"The hell with that, we gonna finish this right now," Daryl growls.

Jesus looks a second away from rolling his eyes, and it's good thing he refrains because Daryl would punch his pretty face in if he did, swear to God.

"Daryl..."

" _Now._ "

" _Fine_ , talk, then," Jesus says, exasperated, rubbing his forehead with a gloved hand.

"Why ain't they all dead?" Starting with the important questions is always good.

"We have to find a way to live with these people once all this is over, Daryl. It's--"

"No, we don't, not if they're dead," Daryl interrupts stubbornly.

"You can't kill _everyone_ , it's impossible," Jesus tries, and fails again.

"Yeah? Watch me," Daryl makes a move towards the pen and Jesus steps in front of him, hands raised, way too close for comfort. A step sideways to keep the distance is almost instinctual, an uncomfortable feeling rising in Daryl's chest.

He's self-aware enough at this point to know that if Jesus puts his hands on him, there are only two possible ways it could go -- violence or a complete breakdown -- and neither is an option right now. He couldn't stomach the first, and he'd lose his mind with the second.

Jesus switches his tactics abruptly. "It's not worth it, Daryl. Doing something like that, killing people indiscriminately, you can never come back from it. This is not worth forfeiting parts of our souls for."

"Yeah, it is," Daryl insists.

"No, it _isn't_ ," Jesus fires back, just as insistently.

He just doesn't get it, can't see how killing someone means another day that his family survives, another peaceful moment on this Earth.

"It is to _me_ ," Daryl echoes what he said to Michonne hours earlier, and he expects Jesus to react the same way she did, leave him his choice, his rope to hang himself with. Someone has to take on these risks, these burdens, and Daryl is the best candidate. It's not like he's worth a damn for anything else. He's the guard dog, the beast to unleash upon your enemies, and he's _good_ at it. There's no cost to his soul that he wouldn't pay to keep his family safe.

"Well, you aren't thinking straight right now, so..." It's a mutter more than a sentence, probably doesn't carry further away than the two of them, but it's clear enough for Daryl to hear.

" _What?_ " he growls, half confusion and half frustration.

Jesus steps closer and lists in a low, cool voice, "You're still recovering from your injuries, you're still getting over being held and tortured at the Sanctuary, you're definitely not over Glenn, or Abraham, or Denise, or Sasha, or _Eric_."

Each name is said with a clear voice and earnest gaze, each a dagger to Daryl's chest that twists and makes him bleed.

Jesus continues, relentless.

"You're angry, you're hurting, you have to go to war even though you probably have PTSD -- Daryl, even _a fraction_ of this would bring anyone else to their knees. I'm impressed that you're still functioning, I really am, but you're _not in your right mind_. No one would be, after all this. And I can't with good conscience let you make any decisions that you're going to regret later on. What kind of a friend would I be, if I did that?"

Jesus' eyes are wide and very blue, and Daryl blinks, chest aching, caught completely off guard. It's not like Jesus is lying, but this speech is almost cruel in the way it's deconstructing him piece by piece. Not to mention the level of perception and insight, the fact that Jesus pays so much attention to him, notices so many things.

It makes Daryl feel incredibly vulnerable.

He doesn't deal well with 'vulnerable', never has.

"Man, shut the hell up, that ain't the point," Daryl says, "You got no idea what happens when you give 'em a chance. They come back and they fuck you up, okay?"

"Just because it ended badly before doesn’t mean it has to again," Jesus says, imploring and a little impatient, but Daryl shakes his head.

"Nah, it will, always has and always will, that's the way it is now. We gotta come for them before they come for us."

It's what Rick always said, and he's right. Every single time they chose differently blew up straight back in their face, and Daryl is tired of that pattern, tired of hoping and being let down.

"That's a horrible way to live," Jesus shakes his head, and Daryl has had enough.

"Yeah, well it's the only way we got, now move."

Daryl goes to step around him and Jesus grabs the crook of his elbow, spinning them both. It's too much, too close, and Daryl wrenches his arm away and steps back.

"Get off!"

"Daryl..."

Daryl glares.

"What the fuck do you _want from me_ ," Jesus hisses abruptly, and seeing him lose his cool is as startling as it is satisfying. Daryl stares, shocked, as Jesus continues. "Is it that wrong, wanting to spare people, let them live instead of fucking _executing_ them all?"

What the fuck are they talking about this entire time? Anger rushes out to meet anger, and Daryl yells hoarsely in Jesus' face, "Yeah, _it is_! They chose this, made their bed, now let 'em lie in it!"

Jesus answers in a tone just shy of yelling himself, stepping right back into Daryl's face.

"Not everyone! Some were forced to do it, or didn't see any other choice, or tried to make the best of a shitty situation. And even then, they're human beings. They're someone's fathers, brothers, friends. Do you want to make more orphans, Daryl? Haven't we all lost enough in this world?"

"What do you know, you _ain't ever lost anyone_ ," Daryl spits out venomously, and he knows it's wrong to use that, a private conversation he accidentally overheard, but he can't stop himself, the need to lash out overriding everything else.

The words stop Jesus in his tracks, wrenching open something deep inside. For a split second it seems like Jesus' eyes glisten, and then _rage_ rises instead, all-encompassing and unstoppable like a tsunami. It spills into every part of Jesus' body, tensing up all muscles, making him grit his teeth.

It's so unsettling Daryl can't help but flinch and step back, colliding with one of the pen's poles. Jesus doesn't follow but it doesn't matter, he's radiating enough emotion to fill the space between them twice over.

" _Fuck you_ , Daryl," Jesus chokes out viciously, " _Fuck you_ for using that against me. You think I wa--"

He turns away, words cut and dried out, and regret takes hold of Daryl's throat with a hard grip. Why does he always do this, hurt the people around him that deserve it the least? Every single time -- Carol, Beth, now Jesus... He almost reaches out, hands that were curled into fists for what seems forever now uncurling, but Jesus turns back to him, his leather duster whipping around with the movement.

"Actually, you know what? Fuck _all_ of you. Every single one of you trigger-happy, revenge-driven, self-absorbed assholes. You hurt so you have to make others hurt, right? Have to settle the score, even the odds? _Bullshit_. You're only trying to make yourselves feel better, you're not doing it for anyone else. You say you're making the world a safer place?  Well, an eye for an eye leaves the world _blind_. Don't you know that? This has to end _somewhere_. Someone has to give in, say 'enough now, _enough_ '."

It's a throaty yell, the last word, but once it's out Jesus loses momentum, closes his eyes and exhales heavily. He almost sways on his feet, and Daryl can't figure out if he's giving up or giving in. Either option sounds... wrong.

"But if you want to do it, fine, go ahead. Don't let me stop you. Just don't expect me to pat you on your back and _forget_ what happened," Jesus says with a hollow voice.

It's surrender, a bitter end, and it's horrible and infuriating at once.

Before he can say something he'll probably regret, Daryl feels a cold pressure under his chin and an arm across his chest, a tight grip on his jacket yanking him further into the post at his back.

Someone took advantage of the distraction they provided, it seems, and proved Daryl's point.

He wants to feel vindicated, wants to rub it in Jesus' face and make him admit he was wrong, but he's just... tired. Tired and so sorry, that humanity is determined to prove Jesus wrong, that they all constantly fail to live up to his hopes and standards.

Jesus' eyes _burn_ in his face, large and deadly.

"Let him go," he says softly, steel threaded through his voice. As calm as he is, there's a light to his eyes that says he's at the end of his rope. Maybe just for today, maybe forever, but his limit is met.

"Nah, I don't think I will," the Savior snickers obnoxiously, and Daryl would slam the back of his head into this dickhead's nose without hesitation if a post wasn't between them.

"Jared, don't get us all killed, man," says someone from inside the pen, and Daryl feels the air around his head move with some sort of motion, probably Jared turning his head reflexively.

That second of distraction is all Jesus needs -- he moves as fast as a cobra when uncoiling and striking at its victim. Grabbing the Savior's wrist holding the weapon in one hand, the forearm in the other, he _twists and pulls_ , resulting in a couple of sickening cracks and a scream of pain as several bones break simultaneously.

Jared drops like a stone, crying and whimpering as he's rolling in the dirt, and Daryl is still catching his breath when Jesus enters the pen. He walks up to the Savior and takes his gun out of the holster slowly.

The sleazebag realizes what a huge mistake he's made but it's way too late now.

"No, wait--"

"I'm sorry," Jesus says and pulls the trigger without hesitation.

Dead silence follows.

"The rules are clear. You violate them, you die. That's the way it is," Jesus says, clearly and calmly, without emotion.

A pretty-boy Savior looks at Jesus with trepidation, the true danger hiding inside his unassuming form probably just dawning on him. Somewhere in a part of his brain that isn't shocked and trying to process this turn of events, Daryl is viciously glad to see that realization _._

_Thought he was some soft-hearted push-over, didn't you? Someone to work over, to manipulate? Tough luck, pretty boy._

Jesus walks over to Daryl and slaps the gun in his hand, gaze empty.

"There. Are you happy now?"

Nothing about this makes Daryl happy, just the opposite. The hairs on the back of his neck are standing up, the feeling of something being very wrong permeating the very air around them.

Jesus continues talking in a flat voice.

"I killed someone, again, so we can win this war. To prove a point and keep the rest of them in line. A human being, no matter how evil and vile and disgusting he was. And now I have to live with it, with myself, for the rest of my life."

He walks off like he's done with them all -- the prisoners, the Hilltop, Daryl, just _everyone_.

Daryl hesitates for a long second but follows, has to, almost helpless against the pull.

What _the hell_ just happened?

Behind them, the guards are carrying away Jared's body and closing the pen again, atmosphere heavy and quiet.

"Who am I, to be the judge, jury and executioner? Huh?" Jesus says without turning around, half to himself. He's headed for his trailer with rapid steps, probably sick of this day, of this entire _war_.

Daryl sure is.

"Who died and made _me_ king? What makes my opinion so special, and right, and fair? Why am I the one that has to carry that burden? I didn't ask for it, I didn't ask for any of this!"

Unable to listen anymore, Daryl pulls Jesus back around with a hand on his bicep and bursts out, "Shut up, just _shut up_!"

Jesus stumbles to a stop and stares back at him mulishly, breathing labored.

Why does he doubt himself? It makes no sense at all to Daryl. Every single decision he'd seen Jesus make was a good one, kind one. How is he unaware that he's the best of what's left of humanity?

"Wanna know why you're better than any of 'em out there, better than most of _us_? It's 'cause you think about shit like this. And you try to do the right thing, no matter what. That alone makes you a damn _saint_. Because there _is_ no right or wrong anymore, okay, just survival. Get that through your thick skull. It's them or us, and I ain't seein' you die 'cause of one of those pieces of shit. No way."

It's possible Daryl is too upset to mind his words because that wasn't something he'd usually admit so easily. It's the truth, though. Daryl would go to a lot of trouble to keep Jesus from harm.

The why of it isn't something that he wants to think about.

"You don't understand, Daryl," Jesus says, a plea torn out of his throat like barbed wire, "I can't do it, not in cold blood, not like this. In the heat of the battle, defending myself or other people, it's fine. I don't even regret that dickhead so much, he's been pushing and taunting and trying to escape for days. But just executing them _all_?" He shakes his head. "I can't. I can't even watch. I can't just sit by and let it happen, it'll haunt me for the _rest of my life_."

The last words are a painful whisper, eyes huge and shiny with despair, defeat written into every line of his body.

It dawns on Daryl that Jesus is actually bothered by this, deeply and viscerally, and not just arguing for the sake of arguing, or thinking he has to be a moral figure because of his namesake.

Jesus comes at this problem from an entirely different perspective than Daryl, with an entirely different set of experiences, and comes to different conclusions. And it might be because he hasn't lost anyone close to him yet, sure, but Daryl is glad that's the case. Why would that be a bad thing? He wouldn't wish his life and his losses on anyone.

Looking at Jesus so beaten and unlike himself, Daryl realizes this is a crossroads. Either they deal with this situation differently, or they lose Jesus -- actually _lose_ him, in some shape or form. And that sounds _awful_ to Daryl. It's bad enough to make his chest ache, bad enough to do something he wouldn't dream of ordinarily, but he doesn't know what else to do.

Daryl steps closer, leans his forehead against Jesus', and holds steady as the little ninja sags against him, like the strings holding him up have been cut and all that's keeping him on his feet is Daryl.

"Okay," Daryl says quietly, words tasting like bitter medicine but mind made up. "Okay, we'll figure somethin' out. Find some other way."

He still doesn't think it's a good idea to keep their enemies alive but Jesus is more important now. They can shelve this argument for another time, when neither of them is so raw and exhausted.

" _Thank you,_ " Jesus whispers, hands clutching at Daryl's biceps like a vice.

The words feel like a benediction, and Daryl closes his eyes, a tiny bit of peace settling inside him for the first time in months. It's a silly thought but insistent and nagging, rattling around in the void the events of this entire day have left in his brain--

 _Maybe they can survive this together_.

Maybe that's the trick, leaning on someone else, taking their strength and lending them yours when you're at the end of your endurance. Maybe Jesus needs someone, too, just like Daryl does when the darkness inside threatens to devour everything in its path.

Hesitantly, Daryl gathers Jesus against him, wrapping his arms around the little ninja tighter once he sees he's welcome. A heavy sigh escapes Jesus, but he seems to be drawing as much comfort from the embrace as Daryl does, head on Daryl's shoulder and arms around his waist.

This thing, right here, is like nothing Daryl has ever felt, or saw, or wanted, or knew of before but...

Yeah.

_Maybe._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still not entirely happy with this, but it started driving me nuts and I'll probably mess with it forever unless I post, so here.
> 
> Love y'all. <3


End file.
